


Pistil and Stamen

by Owlship



Category: Moana (2016)
Genre: (because sex pollen), Dubious Consent, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen, Size Kink, Tumblr Prompt, Vaginal Sex, mildly rough sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9241313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owlship/pseuds/Owlship
Summary: The shores of Te Fiti present Moana and Maui with one more gift, something neither of them asked for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Moana is sixteen here and Maui is not, fair warning. ...I swear I write fics where Moana's an adult, I just really loved the idea of those flowers Te Fiti wreathed her boat with resulting in sex pollen.
> 
> Written for a prompt: "and another smut prompt: ye olde fandom classic sex pollen fic, perhaps in lalotai?"
> 
> Originally posted on [tumblr](http://v8roadworrier.tumblr.com/post/155327054361/smut-prompt-sex-on-a-canoe-is-tricky-but-moana).

Watching Te Fiti restore herself is as incredible as it is unbelievable. If she wasn’t watching it with her own eyes, Moana would never in a thousand years be able to come up with the image of it. She gasps in delight and surprise to see her canoe restored in a burst of flowers, the goddess nodding benevolently to her before sinking back down to slumber as an island once more.

When it’s been a minute or so and the sight has had a chance to sink into her memories for good, she turns to Maui and plans to say something along the lines of, ‘we should gather up some food for the trip back.’

What actually happens is that Moana sneezes.

Maui snorts at her misfortune, then sneezes himself. “Ugh, come on,” he whines.

“It must be the flowers,” she says, stepping closer to look at her festooned boat. “I’ve never seen this type before.” She brushes a finger against one delicately pink blossom and golden pollen sprays out into the air. She tries to hold back her sneeze this time, but all that happens is her face grows hot with the effort.

“Well don’t _touch_ them,” Maui says, hiding his nose behind one of his hands, “You’re making it worse.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” she tells him, breathing shallowly and gathering up as many of the flowers as she can. “Help me get them clear.”

He looks at her, and then the absolutely covered boat. “Hold onto the chicken,” he says, but doesn’t give her any time to figure out what he means before he’s taking in a huge lungful of air, and blowing it out directed at the canoe.

Some of the flowers detach and flutter away, others stay stubbornly where they are. All of them spray out golden-yellow pollen, the air suddenly thick with a cloud of it.

“Oh, thanks,” Moana says sarcastically. “Very effective.” She can feel the pollen landing against her skin, her hair, all sticky and slightly heavy.

“Ugh,” he says. The pollen’s all over him too, and his attempts at getting it off only result it it getting smeared across his skin.

It doesn’t feel as unpleasant as it could, really. Sort of warm, and tingly. She shakes her head and dumps what’s left of her armload of flowers over by the trees before going in for another.

Maui isn’t helping at all, just idly toying with one of the blossoms between his huge fingers. He smiles when she gets close and her insides do something funny, heart sort of stuttering and stomach fluttering.

“What?”

“You’ve got pollen-” he reaches out and, with a delicacy that almost surprises her, runs one of his fingers across her cheek- “there.”

Moana licks her lips; the pollen tastes sweet, gritty against her tongue. “There’s some on you, too,” she says as if he’s somehow unaware.

“Yeah,” he agrees. His hand hasn’t fallen back to his side at all but has somehow come to a rest on her shoulder, heavy against the weight of the pollen. His skin feels hot against hers, like he’s been soaking in the sun all day.

She licks one of her thumbs- the pollen is almost cloying it’s so sweet- and rubs at where the pollen covers one of the tattoos of himself on his chest. The little ink figure stays unmoving, save for where the muscles under Maui’s skin twitch at the touch. “That’s better,” she says, though it really isn’t, and spreads her hand out to cover the area.

Have his eyes always been so dark? She can’t see even a sliver of warm brown in them now as they flick from meeting her own gaze to looking down at her lips, and back again.

She’s figured out what feeling he's dredged up in her is: desire. Now that she has a name for it it seems to be humming under her skin, dancing along all her nerves. Moana leans up onto her toes, balancing herself against his chest, and she’s still so much shorter than him but now he’s leaning down to meet her.

The pollen on his lips is just as sweet, and instead of being merely warm she feels as if she’s standing too close to a fire, her skin hot and tight. She sighs against his mouth and he licks his way past her lips, hands wrapping huge and heavy at her waist, the back of her head. She sinks her fingers into his hair, sticky with golden pollen.

Some part of her is suggesting that this is, perhaps, odd. That an hour ago Maui was a dear friend but nothing more. That part however is very quiet and very far away; it seems as if she has always wanted- _needed_ \- his hands on her, his lips against her lips.

“Maui,” she gasps, burning up with desire, aching all the way to her core. “I want- I need-”

He makes a low sort of rumbling growl. “I know what you need.”

She believes him utterly, but she needs it _now_. Moana attempts to do something about it- grab at his belt, or hers- but he picks her up before she can muster the coordination, and the feeling of it is sufficiently distracting for the time being. He feels huge and solid against her as he hoists her up off the sand entirely, her legs clamping down on either side of his torso.

“You need _me_ , don’t you?” he asks, one of his hands cupping her ass to hold her up against him, the other wrapped around her chest, thumb rubbing vague back-and-forth motions through her top. “Need my touch, need me to make it all better.”

She whines and tries to roll her hips against him, though she can’t feel his skin directly through the layers of her skirt and it makes the discomfort worse, being so close and so far from what she needs.

Maui nuzzles his face against her neck, lips hot and soft as he cleans away the sticky pollen. “Yeah, need me just like that.”

“Don’t tell me,” she hisses, and tugs at a hank of his hair, “ _Show me_.”

He pulls away enough to look her in the eye and his smile is dark and dangerous; she feels herself throb in want and need, so wet she’s nearly dripping. He takes a few steps and she clings to his neck, though she isn’t truly afraid that he’ll drop her, and it isn’t much of a surprise when she feels the smooth wood of the canoe against her.

As soon as she feels confident that they aren’t going anywhere else Moana scrabbles at the fastening of her skirts, needing the heavy cloth _off_. She can tell how hard he is through his own layers and she wants desperately to feel him skin-to-skin, needs him to fuck her because she thinks she’s going to die if he doesn’t.

“That’s it,” he says, and she keens as he takes his hands off her to push down his skirt, his loincloth. Then he’s pressing forward again and she can feel his hard cock skate against the skin of her thighs, smearing wet.

Maui takes her lips in another kiss at the same time as he begins to press his way inside of her. She’s wet, eager, but his cock is big enough that she tenses up and hisses in pain at the burning stretch of it despite her hunger.

“Easy,” he murmurs, as if he isn’t splitting her in half with every little twitch of his hips. “Doing good.”

Moana pinches one of his nipples cruelly but doesn’t tell him to stop, all the breath driven out of her. When he settles in as far as he can go she’s pretty sure she can feel him all the way up under her lungs, feels so full of him she’s afraid of bursting. It doesn’t feel bad, doesn’t really hurt- no more than the burn in her muscles when she runs too fast, swims too far- but it doesn’t feel precisely _good_ , either.

“You need to,” she gasps out when she’s able to draw in a breath, “Need to move. Touch me, Maui, need it.”

He smirks, or at least she thinks he tries to. Then he starts rolling his hips, tiny motions that send sparks of fire all across her body, that have her burying her face against his skin while she tries to hold on to his shoulders.

“That’s it,” Maui tells her, one hand on her hip to rock her against him. “I’ve got you. Gonna be so good for you, make you scream.”

Rather than scream she whines, the ache inside of her only starting to abate now that he’s moving. She keeps one hand clamped around his neck to stay upright and brings the second down between them, rubs at where her clit is throbbing. That helps the ache as well, makes the pulse of it turn to pleasure like she’s never known before, not from her own fingers certainly.

Moana moans when he starts moving faster, more fluidly; he pulls out nearly all the way before sinking back inside now and it’s everything she’s ever wanted but it’s somehow not quite _enough_.

“Just like that,” he pants, sweat dripping down his temple. The salt of it mixes with the sweet pollen when she kisses him, makes the hunger get sharper.

The sensations build, all aching heat and pleasure and _need_ \- until she’s coming with a shout. Before she’s even really finished riding the wave of her climax everything she was feeling abruptly cuts off, as if some threw water onto a fire; now there’s only the ache of taking a too-large cock too quickly.

Moana squirms in his grip as she catches her breath and tries to figure out why she’s having sex with him, why it had seemed so urgent.

He’s coming himself only a few thrusts later, burying himself in deep enough that she winces as he pulses. He blinks blearily, eyes widening in surprise like he’s suddenly wondering the same things as she is.

“Can you,” she says, shifting her grip from clinging to pushing.

Maui steps back almost immediately and she hisses in pain as his dick pulls at her walls when it slips out, struggles to close up her legs back together from where they were splayed so wide around his torso.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, frowning and shaking his head, not looking directly at her, “I don’t know what came over me.”

She’d reassure him that she’d wanted it, at least at first, but it’s hard to even _think_ that she’d been eager for it when now she feels sore all the way through. Moana settles for waving a hand vaguely.

“Are you okay?” he asks, “Moana?”

She looks back over at him, face drawn tight in concern and smeared head-to-toe with pollen. His prick’s still out, just about the only clean part of him, and it strikes her as absurdly comical.

“I think it’s the flowers,” she says. She doesn’t know if she can answer his question yet.

Maui looks around them with dawning understanding, and then he swears rather violently. “I should have known,” he says more to himself than her, she thinks.

He holds up his hands and speaks more clearly, “I won’t touch you, but you need to go wash off. Clothes too. Try to hold your breath ‘till you’re in the water, okay?”

She nods, though she isn’t sure she can actually stand. “What about you?”

“I’ll go next,” he says. “Stay in the water if I get…” He gestures vaguely.

That doesn’t seem particularly fair- Moana can remember the burning _need_ she’d felt and assumes he felt as well- but then she thinks about helping him again and wants to whimper in pain. He’s a demigod, she reminds herself, he can handle being a bit horny.

She holds her breath as she grabs her discarded skirt and walks down to the water, trying not to disturb the pollen gathered on the sand. The water bubbles up around her and she sinks under the surface as soon as she’s out far enough, pollen forming a murky cloud around her as it washes away. She stays under for as long as she can hold her breath, scrubbing her hands through her hair, the salt water stinging a bit when she rubs to clean between her legs.

When she surfaces she can see Maui on the beach frowning at the canoe, still entirely covered in flowers and golden pollen. He’s pulled his skirt back up but doesn’t seem to have otherwise moved.

“Ocean,” she says, and feels the water around her take on that curious energy that it has when it’s interacting, “Can you wash the flowers away?”

The ocean does nothing for a moment, and she thinks disappointedly that the easy option apparently won’t work, but then a massive wave forms just off to her side. It surges up towards the shore and splashes back down, dragging a sputtering Maui with it as it recedes.

She watches the newly-cleaned canoe list to the side, and though there are still some flowers clinging to it she’s willing to bet that whatever pollen hasn't washed away is at least too damp now to cause any problems.

“Thank you,” Moana tells the ocean, and it curls around her for a split second like it’s giving her a hug before smoothing back to normal.


End file.
